


Adventures of Babysitter Holmes

by MsLadySmith



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Babysitting, Fluff, Uncle Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-25 22:43:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12542888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsLadySmith/pseuds/MsLadySmith
Summary: FB Writing Prompt: Sherlock babysits Rosie.After 8 months of full-time parenting, the Watsons needed a break.  But with Mrs. Hudson out of town at her sister's, and Molly working nights, there was only one person available to babysit.





	Adventures of Babysitter Holmes

Mary looked at John worriedly. "Are you sure he can handle this?"

Putting his arm reassuringly around his wife. "They will be fine. We haven't had any time to ourselves since Rosie was born. It's just few hours. Let's enjoy it." John kissed her lightly on the cheek.

"If you're sure..."

"I'm sure. Our reservation is at 7. Let's go."

John put his arm around Mary's waist, and guided her to the car. Once she was inside, he looked up at the window of 221B. "You'd better be able to handle this, Sherlock..." he muttered to himself, as he walked around to the driver's seat.

* * *

Eight-month-old Rosie was propped up in the corner of the couch, looking at her surroundings wide-eyed. The tall, dark-haired man sitting next to her was not Daddy. She was unsure of him.

"Hello, Rosamund," he spoke softly. She liked his voice, and cooed happily.

The tall man smiled. "Oh, you like my voice, do you? Perhaps we should chat more, then."

Rosie giggled. She liked the tall man. He reached over and she grabbed his fingers firmly.

"Oh, ho! You've got quite a grip, young lady!" His eyes shone. He pulled his fingers away, and reached down to pick her up and settled her on his lap, leaning down to meet her eyes.

Rosie's eyes grew wider. He smelled different from Daddy. In her excitement, she slapped her hand against his cheek - he was scratchier than Daddy. He smiled. "Now, now... let's save that skill for when you're older," he laughed, covering her little hand with his. She giggled, her hands flailing wildly in her glee.

"I can't imagine why your parents were worried about you coming to visit me. I promised not to conduct any experiments while you're here. Lestrade knows not to call with any cases while you're here. You will have my complete and undivided attention for several hours. Half of London is jealous of you, my dear."

Rosie communicated her approval by grabbing Sherlock's nose and squealing.

Sherlock jerked up. "A bit grabby tonight, are we? Well, I think Mummy packed something for that..." He reached into the diaper bag and pulled out a small stuffed giraffe, handing it to Rosie. She seized the poor creature's neck with all the gusto her little hands could muster.

"So what did Mummy and Daddy pack for your dinner tonight?" Sherlock set Rosie back onto the couch, and started rummaging through the diaper bag for baby food. He pulled out a jar labelled "Creamy Fish Pie".

Sherlock made a face. "Ugh. I'm sorry, dear Rosamund, but that looks positively awful. I refuse to serve that to you." Rosie was preoccupied with gnawing on the stuffed giraffe in her grasp. "Obviously, we need to go shopping." He picked her up, cradling her on one hip, and grabbed his coat as they headed down stairs.

Rosie stared at the man carrying her as he hurried down the block. The big coat he wore was soft and warm, and she snuggled into it.

Sherlock ducked into the corner market. "Good evening, Mrs. Evans!" Sherlock said cheerily to the woman behind the counter.

"Good evening, Mr. Holmes!" the shopkeeper replied without looking up. She finished stocking the cigarette shelf, and turned to look at Sherlock. "Oh, my! Who is this beautiful lady?"

Rosie turned to the look at the source of the new voice. Not Mummy. Not Gammy Hudson. But the tall man likes her. Rosie smiled.

"This is John's daughter, Rosamund. Say hello, Rosamund," Sherlock said, and Rosie giggled, burying her face in his Belstaff. "Sorry. It seems we've had a sudden attack of shyness."

"Well, you are adorable, little one! You keep Uncle Sherlock in line now, you hear?" She tickled Rosie's cheek.

Sherlock turned and went to the aisle where the baby food was situated. "So what are you hungry for tonight, my dear?" he asked Rosie in a sweet voice. "Ah, how about this - Spaghetti Bolognese, just for you. Looks much more appetizing than creamy fish pie, don't you think?" He picked up the jar of baby food, showing it to Rosie but wisely keeping it out of reach. He returned to the counter, and Mrs. Evans rang up the purchase for him, which he just slipped into a pocket of his coat, and headed back to the flat.

* * *

Rosie sat in the high chair, babbling happily and hitting the tray with her fists, making a delightful racket while Sherlock heated her meal. He sat down at the table with her food, and scooped up a spoonful. "All right - open up," as he moved the spoon to her mouth.

Rosie closed her mouth firmly. "Come on, now, I know you're hungry." He directed the spoon to her mouth again, and she turned away.

"Oh, you're a stubborn little thing, just like your parents," Sherlock smiled half-heartedly, putting the spoon down. Rosie resumed babbling and pounding the tray.

"Domesticity suits you, Sherlock," came Mycroft's voice from the living room. Sherlock jumped up, knocking over his chair.  Rosie was startled, and tears started to form in her eyes.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock hissed angrily. "What the he- what are you doing here?"

"I needed the Mason file, so I thought a brotherly visit would be in order."

"You could have texted. Go away. I'm busy." 

Sherlock turned to Rosie, touching her cheek, "Hush, Rosamund.  Mean old Mycroft was just leaving."  He shot a vicious look at his brother.

"I can see that. Seems your god-daughter has complete control over the situation," Mycroft stifled a laugh.

"She's just not hungry," Sherlock pouted.

"Perhaps I can be of assistance. May I?" Mycroft righted Sherlock's chair, and sat down in front of Rosie, who eyed him suspiciously. He picked up the spoon of baby food, and waved it in front of her in a sweeping motion. Her eyes followed the spoon, mesmerized, and her mouth opened a bit. Mycroft quickly slipped the spoon into her mouth. Surprised, she rolled it around in her mouth and swallowed.

"You see? Simple."

Sherlock was amazed. "Where did you learn that? You don't like children."

"Someone had to feed you, brother mine," Mycroft smirked, rising and handing the spoon to Sherlock.  "I will leave you in your mistress' care, then. Have a good evening." Mycroft walked to Sherlock's desk, grabbed the file he needed, and left the flat.

Sherlock took the seat in front of Rosie. Having had a mouthful of food, she now took interest in what he was offering, so feeding her was much simpler, though a bit messy. When the bowl was empty, he surveyed the scene. "Rosamund, I estimate you ate about two-thirds of your meal, and are wearing the remainder. Time for a bath." He picked her up from the high chair, and headed to the loo with his charge.

Sherlock filled the tub with a few inches of warm water, and sat Rosie in it. She shrieked and splashed, and in short order, Sherlock was nearly as wet as she was. While she played in the water, he managed to wash her thoroughly with a wet flannel and a little bit of soap, rinsing her clean by pouring a bowl of the water over her, resulting in more giggling from them both.

* * *

With Rosie bathed and dried, with a fresh nappy and clean pyjamas, Sherlock slipped into a dry shirt and his dressing gown, and lay her next to him on his bed. "Perhaps a bedtime story? Let's see what I have to read to you..." He looked at his bedroom bookshelf. "Although my anatomy and botany books have a lot of colorful pictures, I doubt they would hold your interest. Besides, it seems my voice is soothing to you."

Sherlock looked at his nightstand, and saw the book he had been reading yesterday evening. "How about we kill two birds with one stone, dear Rosamund? I will continue reading my book - but aloud. At least until you fall asleep." He kissed Rosie on the forehead, and tucked a blanket over her. He turned to where he left off, and began to read: 

> _As I write I find it impossible to believe he did not see me, in my estimation I was less than a few feet from him. The fool panicked, it is what saved me. My satisfaction was far from complete, damn the bastard, I cursed him and cursed him, but I was clever, they could not out do me. No one ever will.*_

* * *

About 10:30pm, John and Mary came up the stairs and walked into the living room. It was quiet. And empty. They looked at each other, concerned. The diaper bag sat on the couch, opened and sorted through. In the kitchen, the high chair bore evidence of food having been served and/or played with. John walked up to Sherlock's bedroom door and looked inside. He smiled. "Mary," he whispered. "Look at this." She joined him at the door.

There, on Sherlock's bed, Rosie was snuggled on Sherlock's chest, both of them sound asleep. Sherlock was loosely holding a book - Mary's eyes widened in horror when she saw the title: The Diary of Jack the Ripper. John chuckled. "It's Sherlock, dear. What did you expect for a bedtime story?" he whispered.

They walked quietly over to the bed, Mary picking up Rosie and John putting Sherlock's book on the night stand. Sherlock's sleepy eyes opened in a panic. "Ssssh, Sherlock. We don't want to wake her," John whispered. "We're taking her home."

Sherlock sat up. "How was dinner? Did you enjoy your time away?"

"Yes, we did. And you?"

"Rosamund had a pleasant evening with Uncle Sherlock, I think. We look forward to doing it again sometime."

**Author's Note:**

> * quoted from page 453 of The Diary of Jack the Ripper, by Shirley Harrison


End file.
